


Wild As The Wind Blows

by Morbidmuch



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cottage prawn, F/M, Feels, Fluff, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Light Angst, Romance, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:27:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29845635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morbidmuch/pseuds/Morbidmuch
Summary: Touch me I'm golden, and wild as the wind blowsAnd tumbling tumbling, don't go fascinationIf just for tonight darling, let's get lostTo anyone watching they are simply Headmaster and Head Girl. Perhaps they imagine he's just said something scathing about her over-achiever nature and that is why her cheeks are flushed.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 33
Kudos: 208
Collections: Hearts and Cauldrons Discord Members, Hot Buttered Cottage Prawn





	Wild As The Wind Blows

**Author's Note:**

  * For [foxyx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxyx/gifts).



> Inspired a fanart made by my talented friend Foxy (view [HERE](https://foxyx.tumblr.com/image/643823149288488960)). This ended up differently than I imagined, but I hope you like it.  
> (If you squint this could take place in the same universe as my drabble [Vault](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24143158/chapters/63558586) from my A Catalogue of Afternoons drabble fic, which was also based on Foxy fanart)

**Wild As the Wind Blows**

Hermione looks like a squid.

Whatever happened to normal dress robes? She would much have preferred that – maybe in a nice navy – over this. There are too many frills and layers and what is that thing hanging from her waist? Also, it's pink.

Her wand hand twitches. Maybe she could just adjust it a tiny bit. She doubts Ginny will notice.

“Don't you dare!”

Or maybe not.

Ginny's dress doesn't look like a squid, and Hermione is deeply jealous.

“You look great,” Ginny says. “And need I remind you that you wanted to wear something different?”

Hermione sighs. That is technically true. But she meant something that made her look grown up – and maybe even a bit sexy – not that made her look like a cephalopod. The fact that the Ministry is holding a remembrance ball on the first anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts is bad enough. The bonus of a Muggle formal dress code is just icing on a very disgusting cake.

“All right, let's go then,” Hermione says, slipping her wand down her bodice – damn fluttery sleeves – and squaring her shoulders. “The sooner we go down, the sooner we can leave.” 

Despite her less than positive feelings about the evening, Hermione's stomach is in knots. Who knows how the evening will turn out? There are all sorts of opportunities that can be seized and dark corners one could disappear into with a well-placed _Muffliato_ and notice-me-not spell. Hopefully, anyway.

–

Two hours later and it's clear to Hermione she was wrong. She hasn't seen him all evening, her stomach is in knots. Her only comfort is that hers isn't the only cephalopod-like clothing present.

The dinner and speeches are over, the tables cleared away to encourage dancing. Then, Hermione spots him alone next to the drinks table, his usual scowl and black robes in place. That is unfair. Her stomach flutters.

Under the pretence of getting a drink, she approaches. His face remains scowling, but his pinky twitches slightly where it rests on his black-clad arm. That is all the acknowledgement he can afford to give her in public.

“How did you get away with wearing your usual robes?” Her voice is low, meant only for him. She picks up a champagne flute filled with an iridescent liquid. It tastes like peaches.

“I simply told them that I could either attend dressed how I pleased or not attend at all.”

Why is it that the low timbre of his voice has such an effect on her? It's borderline embarrassing.

“I wish I could have told them that,” she says, turning to face the room, “instead of having to turn up dressed as a cephalopod.”

Severus exhales sharply through his nose and one might mistake it for a chuckle. “So that's what it resembles.”

Hermione can't help the dull pain at his words. She wasn't expecting him to lavish her with compliments – it's simply not in his nature – but he could have said something not quite as rude.

“Does it look that bad?”

This time his eye twitches. “You've looked better.”

She rolls her eyes. “Thanks.”

His head turns slightly in her direction.

Hermione takes another sip of the peach cocktail.

To anyone watching they are simply Headmaster and Head Girl. Perhaps they imagine he's just said something scathing about her over-achiever nature and that is why her cheeks are flushed.

They don't know about the sleepless nights they spent in the drawing-room at Grimmauld Place over the previous summer, neither one of them able to escape the trauma of the war that haunted their dreams.

They don't know that the first time Hermione kissed him – in the near darkness of an almost burnt out candle – her hands trembled where they rested on his cheek. The brocade sofa was scratchy on her bum and thighs but his mouth was sure on hers and his fingers brought her up high, high up and caught her as she fell.

They don't know how hard he tried to persuade her to stay away, or how she dug in her heels until he admitted he wanted her too. They meet in closed-off alcoves or abandoned classrooms, always fleetingly and under a myriad of wards.

“Meet me in the south courtyard,” he mumbles. “Five minutes.” And he stalks away, robes swishing around his ankles.

Hermione finishes her drink, then finds Ginny. Tries not to smile at the way she's looking at a dancing Luna. They think they're being very sneaky, but they really aren't.

“I'm going to get some air,” she says.

“Uhuh,” Ginny replies, clearly not paying any attention.

Hermione makes her way towards the south courtyard. There are no people there, only the scent of jasmine and rose in the air and the bright stars in the dark sky. She stops in the archway, looks around. There's no Severus. Only the faint wind and lit candles floating through the air. Then a hint of herbs reaches her.

A hand slips into hers.

She bits her lip, feels him press his shoulder against hers.

“Are there wards?”

“There are.”

Hermione curls her fingers around his.

Severus exhales shakily. “We shouldn't be doing this.”

She looks up at him, smiles sadly. “I know. But it's only a month until I take my NEWTs. After that, what we do is nobody's business.”

“People will still care.” He's looking at her now, black eyes intense. “They will not take kindly to you aligning yourself with me.”

“Then they can bugger off.” She wraps her other hand around their joined ones, faces him with determination. “I want this. You. I'm sure of this. Aren't you?”

The wind picks up her hair, blows it around her face. He pushes it back, lets his fingers glide over her cheek. She leans into his touch. Then he bends down and kisses her gently. She sighs, stretches to meet his lips properly.

They may have to remain in the shadows for now, but they won't forever. She cannot wait until that day.

-

It's harder than she anticipated.

She knows he probably wants to say “I told you so,” but he doesn't. Small mercies.

They don't make any big announcements about their involvement, it wouldn't sit right with either of them. Instead, Hermione quietly tells first Ginny – who is surprised but supportive – then Harry and Ron. Ron storms off, Harry looks betrayed. Severus tells McGonagall, who tells him she understands but says it with her lips pursed.

The first time they walk through Diagon Alley together, Hermione feels like she's an animal at the London Zoo. There are stares and whispers, but no one says anything outright. They don't dare.

She is surprised when he announces he's sold Spinner's End and is moving to a cottage in the countryside.

“I imagine your familiar will prefer chasing rodents on the fields over the pitiful excuse of a garden at Grimmauld,” he says casually as he pours tea into their mugs.

She straightens up. “You want me to move in with you?”

His eyebrow quirks. “I thought it was a given.”

By the time she's stopped kissing him, their tea has gone cold.

They move at the end of July – Hermione's relationship with Harry and Ron hasn't improved and she's not invited to his birthday party at the Burrow – and she falls in love with the stone cottage at the end of a long drive. There's nothing around but fields and sheep, and Crookshanks immediately disappears through the grass.

August flies by.

They plant potions ingredients in the garden, spend hours on a blanket under the large oak tree by the gate and spend their evenings in front of the fire. They enjoy living openly and carefree – as carefree as Severus can be – and having all the time in the world. It is bliss.

The night before Severus is due to go back to Hogwarts, they watch the sun setting over the fields from their spot underneath the oak.

“I'm going to miss you,” Hermione says, rubbing her cheek against his jumper. She's set to start university in just a week, and she doesn't want to admit that she's nervous.

His chest rumbles. “It'll only be a few weeks.”

“I know.” She pulls the sleeve of her jumper over her hand and wipes at her face. She feels childish being emotional.

He says her name in that soft tone that's only for her, and she tilts her head up. The setting sun has cast most of his face in shadow, but the emotion on his face is plain for her to see.

“This isn't what I wanted for you. Don't argue,” he adds when she makes to protest. “There are many things I regret, but you are not one of them.”

She pushes herself up to sit, pushes her hair behind her ears. “I don't care if the entire world hates me, as long as I have you. I love you, Severus.”

He touches her face. “And I you. Very much.”

She kisses him deeply, inhaling his scent and the fragrances from the garden and the late summer evening. He moves her onto her back, settles between her legs. The air is getting chilly but his body is warm against hers. He pushes up her skirt, she unfastens his trousers.

Then he's inside her, and she sighs. How does he feel so good? Like they were meant to be together. They move together in the rapidly falling darkness. He nips at her neck, pulling her thigh higher on his hip and she comes. He doesn't last long, and he sighs out his release against her neck.

They remain on the blanket until the sun has fully set and the sky is lit with endless stars. It reminds her of the first night she kissed him, and she smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> Come chat with me on [Tumblr!](https://morbidmuch.tumblr.com/) I'm friendly and sometimes funny.


End file.
